Against All Odds
by M C Pehrson
Summary: Story #12 Just when Lauren Fielding's relationship with Spock looks most promising, he dies saving the Enterprise. Why can't she seem to accept it?
1. Chapter 1

The captain's cabin felt too hot. Stifling, in fact. As Lauren Fielding stood waiting for him, she loosened the fastenings on her uniform jacket. Out of consideration for human comfort, Spock normally lowered the temperature when she came. Today was different. While ending her shift, a private message had directed her to meet him here and enter if she arrived first. She had been looking forward to their weekly music session later that evening. Why call for her now?

As she stood wondering, her eyes took in the now-familiar area with its sparse furnishings, standard neutral-tone carpet, and unadorned walls. Nothing but Starfleet issue. Here, trainees and other members of the crew could stop by and speak with their captain and instructor after hours. And there were some who actually did this, brave souls. Spock's aloof manner had a way of intimidating many humans. It wasn't so long ago since Lauren had felt that way herself.

She whirled as the outer door hissed open and came face to face with the object of her thoughts. Much to her annoyance, she blushed.

"Nervous?" Spock asked, an eyebrow rising.

She pressed a hand to her thumping heart. "Haven't you noticed, Captain? Everyone's a little edgy around here—and with the Enterprise barely out of Spacedock."

The minute shift in Spock's expression would have seemed insignificant on a human, but to Lauren it confirmed that there was good reason to be nervous.

"One moment," Spock said, pausing to adjust the temperature control. Cooler air immediately began spreading through the room. Then he triggered the door lock, securing their privacy, and faced her once again. "I have to cancel tonight's session. There is a dinner-meeting I must attend."

He could have told her that in his message, but she was glad he had sent for her instead. "Spock," she said carefully, "this isn't just a training cruise anymore, is it? I know it's a coincidence that Admiral Kirk is aboard…but there are a lot of rumors…"

"I am not surprised." He considered for a few seconds before saying, "We have been diverted to Spacelab Regulus I. I cannot tell you more than that."

"And Kirk really has taken command?"

"At my insistence."

So it was that serious. "Well, I don't like it," Lauren said frankly. "The whole thing gives me a lousy feeling."

" 'A lousy feeling'." The corners of Spock's mouth stirred. His dark eyes mocked her with dry humor. "Doctor Fielding, would you care to express that in more scientific terms?"

"Go ahead, make fun of me." She feigned a wounded tone. "I suppose you'll try to tell me you don't _have_ any feelings."

For a moment he just gazed at her with that maddening calm peculiar to Vulcans. She knew well that there was no forcing any response from Spock. The overture had to come from him, and apparently this was not the time for even one of his small overtures—or so it seemed until he moved nearer and reaching out, gently took hold of her hand. Slowly he raised it up and brought his palm into contact with hers. There was a burning in his eyes that found its way straight to her heart.

"Do not be afraid," he said, just above a whisper, and began stroking her fingers in a way that made her breath catch.

She swallowed hard. "I'm not."

"I cannot tell you what is untrue," he said thickly. "With you I always feel. Surely you know that."

Tears sprang into Lauren's eyes. He had held himself apart for so long, forever skirting an invisible line of decorum, constantly drawing back in all but the frustrated depths of her imagination. Now that he had finally stepped over the line, she could not think of anything to say. Like him, all she could do was feel.

In the midst of this pleasant interplay an arm slipped around her waist and drew her against him. She felt the edges of his mind starting to mingle with her own. Welcoming the contact, she brought her mouth up to kiss him and he returned the attention fully. Then a surge of negative emotion spoiled the connection between them. Spock lowered his hands and stepped away from her. Because of his Vulcan genes, he looked much younger than his years—and never more so than now, with his rigid composure shaken.

Though Lauren did not fully understand what had passed between them, she saw one thing very clearly. "You're _sorry._ You're _ashamed_ this finally happened." And somehow she knew why—that all his life, his every experience of intimacy had resulted in shame and regret, right up to the tragedy at Mega Morbidus.

Still inwardly struggling, he turned aside.

"We've done nothing wrong," she insisted. "These feelings are natural—they're honest and good." And for the first time she had the courage to admit, "I _love_ you."

He stood silent for so long that she almost left him to his brooding. But she found she couldn't leave him like this, not under her own power, so she said, "You'll have to tell me to go. You'll have to say you don't want me here."

Now, at last, he looked at her, his eyes dark and tormented. _This is it,_ she feared. He would acknowledge his mistake and say it was over. She would become just another Chris Chapel, wounded and bleeding from his unrequited love.

"Lauren—" He began, but stopped and attempted once more to collect himself. Wordlessly he stepped closer and his right hand rose. With his fingertips on her cheek, he leaned in and delivered a tender kiss. Then he said, " _I_ must leave now…but we will reschedule…soon."

Her heart singing, she nodded, and he was out the door.

Lauren was not sure if her legs would carry her, but they did. Dazedly she made her way to her quarters in the junior officers' corridor. This time out she had the cabin all to herself. Stripping off her uniform, she showered, lifting her face to the soothing stream of warm water. _Soon,_ Spock had promised. He had not sent her away. Now that he had turned a corner in his life, surely he would never go back. How could she not trust him—now, when he had finally acknowledged his feelings for her by his words and by his actions?

The shower finished its cycle and cut off. Thrust back into the present, Lauren wrapped herself in a robe and combed out her wavy blonde hair. Hungry, she ordered a tuna sandwich from the cabin dispenser. She ate at her computer, leisurely reviewing her latest work on Vulcan plakir-fee. Research into the disease was going slow. Though her histamine therapy had brought Spock back from the brink of death, so far she had been unable to adapt her discovery to benefit full-blooded Vulcans.

Last month, while discussing her research with the captain, she had invited him to review the project and offer suggestions. Though he was not trained in medicine, his keen intellect had provided a striking insight into a problem that had been challenging her. Since then she had left the project open to him, and hardly a day went by that he did not examine it and leave some sort of comment. Finding a communiqué from him now, she smiled broadly at the figures that appeared on the screen and set to work, oblivious to the passage of time.

Suddenly the klaxon rang out for battle alert.

 _A drill? Of all the rotten timing!_ Grumbling, Lauren leapt from her chair, scrambled into her uniform and gathered her hair into a loose knot. She was heading out the door when the ship rocked, hurling her to the deck. In the distance she heard the sound of an explosion.

Everything grew ominously still. Shaken but unhurt, Lauren scrambled up and joined the other stragglers running for their posts. She arrived at sickbay the same time as Doctor McCoy.

"Reliant fired on us!" he announced, grim-faced. "Engineering's been hit!"

 _Thank God, not the bridge._ Lauren felt a moment's relief, then the casualties started to pour in—some of them trainees who were little more than children. As she worked from patient to patient, she used her outrage to keep going, to deaden the feeling of helplessness and fear for Spock's safety. _What was happening? Fired on by Reliant? A sister ship?_

Then, once more, the doors to sickbay slid aside and Lauren turned, expecting more stretcher-bearers or rushing medics or shaken crewmembers hobbling in under their own power. But this time is was the captain. Smeared with human blood, he carried in a badly injured boy and stopped short at the sight of the carnage overflowing the ward. Close behind him followed Mister Scott and Admiral Kirk. The Chief Engineer looked distraught as he hovered over the limp trainee cradled in Spock's arms. With a shock Lauren realized the boy must be Scotty's nephew, Peter. She took a step forward, but Doctor McCoy hurried past her and swept the three men into an operating room.

Lauren turned back to the injured. Anyone who could benefit from surgery had already been attended, but she had her hands full helping Doctor Chapel coordinate care for the survivors and the dying. And there were far too many in the latter category.

She was wiping her hands on a damp towel when Spock emerged. She barely managed to intercept him before he reached the exit. As his pain-laden eyes met hers, she wondered what could she possibly say to him. These were his trainees. He was responsible for their education, their safety. She asked, "The fighting—is it over?"

"For now," he answered in a heavy voice. "I must return to the bridge."

"Looking like this?" She dabbed the damp towel over the front of his jacket and he glanced down with some surprise, as if only now becoming aware of Peter's blood. She pressed the towel into his red-stained hands. "Go ahead, take it with you."

As the door closed behind him, Lauren turned and found Christine Chapel glaring at her from across the room.

ooooo

Young Peter Preston was gone, his battered remains sent over to the stasis room. The injured classmates he had left behind lay on monitor beds and makeshift cots, trying hard to be brave.

The snatches of information Lauren had gleaned from Doctor McCoy were far from encouraging. Khan-Noonian-Singh—a half-remembered name out of a history book, a genius with a personal vendetta against Admiral Kirk, a madman out for blood. Well, plenty of blood had already been spilled, and as long as Khan controlled a Federation starship, there was a strong likelihood of more bloodshed. Knowing that Reliant was still somewhere out there made everyone uneasy.

Around midnight the Enterprise limped into orbit around Regulus I, and McCoy left to join a landing party. Casualties were expected at the spacelab. Sickbay remained in a state of alert.

A few minutes later Doctor Chapel sent four medics to the transporter room. Then, in an apparent contradiction, she cancelled sickbay's alert status and with a cool glance at Lauren, turned and walked away. It was the kind of abrupt treatment Lauren had come to expect from Chapel, but tonight she had little patience. Determined to get some answers, Lauren cornered Chapel outside the burn unit. "Would you mind telling me what's going on?" she asked. "If there are casualties beaming up, why have we stepped down from alert?"

Chapel gave her a long, icy look. "Who said anything about casualties? Figure it out, Fielding. We were too late."

"They're… _dead?"_

Chapel nodded grimly. "Tortured to death."

Lauren's stomach flipped. "Why would Khan be murdering scientists? I thought he was after Admiral Kirk."

"Oh, he'd like to get Kirk, alright." Chapel's eyes focused inward, as if searching out an old, unpleasant memory. "But I think there's something more to this. The man is power hungry."

"You sound like you know him."

"We've met," she admitted. Then something in Chapel's manner changed, and she was back in the present, cold as ever. "Life out here isn't always pretty. Maybe you should have stayed at Starfleet Medical Center with your nice safe test tubes."

 _And Spock would probably be dead now,_ Lauren thought hotly. _Don't you realize that?_ She forced a taut, subordinate smile. "Thank you for your concern, Doctor, but whatever happens, I'll manage."

Yet as the night wore on, Lauren found herself hard pressed to manage. McCoy had remained off-ship with the landing party, which left the medical department seriously understaffed. And along with the living to care for, the dead also demanded attention. Lauren inwardly braced herself when Chapel called her to review the newly arrived tricordings of Spacelab's fatalities. It did not help that the captain was present. Lauren suspected that the slashed throats and other evidence of brutality sickened Spock as much as they did her. He left without saying anything, without so much as a glance in her direction.

Fatigue began to set in, mercifully numbing her to the night's many horrors. Time slipped and telescoped; happenings took on a dreamlike quality that left her feeling strangely detached. At one point she heard Doctor McCoy's voice and found him bent over the bleeding ear of an officer from the Reliant. A young male civilian nervously paced nearby. A woman with flowers in her blonde hair seemed to be working with Chapel.

Who were those people? Where had they come from?

Her heart plummeted as the battle alarm sounded and the ship shuddered into motion. She began making sure the injured were secured. The Enterprise lurched. Its gravity field briefly faltered, throwing everyone off-balance. A few patients cried out. The officer with the bloody ear reared up, wild-eyed. Now and then the ship shuddered again. Lauren tried to ignore it. Kirk and Spock were up on the bridge. They were both experienced in battle. Soon Khan would be blown back into the history books where he belonged.

Then the ship took a major hit. Lauren gasped as the deck wrenched out from under her and she slammed headfirst into a cabinet. Lights flickered. There was a distance rumbling. She struggled to rise, but dizziness overwhelmed her. Then there was only blackness…

ooooo

Lauren awoke on a bed. Though her vision was blurry, she knew at once that she was in sickbay. In the dim quiet of the ward her head throbbed and her stomach felt squeamish. Gingerly she fingered a painful lump above her right ear. She tried to sit up and failed.

A nurse appeared at her bedside, an out of focus image of medical authority. "Better stay down," the woman ordered. "You have a nasty concussion. A doctor will get to you as soon as they work through the critical cases."

The diagnosis fit all of Lauren's unpleasant symptoms. "Just great. Of all the stupid, clumsy—" Breaking off, she struggled to bring the nurse into clear focus. The effort only aggravated her headache. "There's more casualties?"

"Yes." The nurse's voice seemed unusually subdued.

Lauren sensed that something was wrong. Her first thought was for McCoy, but a feeling of dread held her back. Instead she asked, "What about Khan?"

"Dead." There was moment's relief until the nurse said, "And Captain Spock…"

Lauren went sick inside. A rush of frightening possibilities tore through her mind, but none were as devastating as the nurse's softly spoken words.

"The captain is dead, too."

ooooo

But Spock was not dead. Just before morning his calm presence coaxed Lauren awake. She opened her eyes and clearly saw the Vulcan standing beside her bed. With a rush of relief, she said, "I thought you were—they told me—"

His eyes warmed. His strong fingers took her by the hand. Quietly he said, "Rest. I am right here."

Drowsy and content, she lay back and closed her eyes.

A few moments later she reared up in a panic. Her choked cry went unnoticed in the dim, crowded ward. The space beside her bed was empty. Spock was gone. Holding her head, she sat alone and frightened, desperate to know the truth. She had to find out, however painful.

Rising slowly, she carefully swung her legs off the bed and stood. She clutched at the mattress behind her, shaky and nauseous, threatening to black out from the agony in her skull. A few deep breaths helped…a little. Wrapping up in her blanket, she weaved a dizzy path to the door and left the ward.

The ship seemed so quiet now, so empty. No one saw her furtive journey to the stasis room. There was nothing to stop her from going inside—nothing, that is, but the weight of her own fear. But she _had_ to know. Whispering a prayer for strength, she entered the eerie darkness. A faint blue glow radiated from the row of stasis boxes. Shivering, she struggled to clear her vision and decipher the names of the dead. As she ventured closer, her foot struck something in the shadows. It stirred.

"Who's there?" she gasped, her heart pumping an agony of blood to her injured head.

"Saavik," came the firm reply. "I did not mean to startle you."

 _Saavik. The young woman Spock had saved from Hellguard as a child. His former ward, whom he had sponsored at Starfleet Academy. What was she doing here?_

 _Keeping vigil,_ came the answer and Lauren felt the last of her hope collapsing.

"Captain Spock gave his life for us," Saavik said, her voice wavering. "He died bravely."

Numbed, Lauren stared at the stasis box above Saavik and fainted.

ooooo

It was morning when Lauren next opened her eyes. One side of her bed had been curtained off, separating her from the rest of the ward. She heard nurses treading lightly among the other patients, delivering medication, offering food, joking. The smell of breakfast sparked Lauren's appetite. She was stretching when her memory cleared.

 _Oh God. He was gone._

When had she first started to care about him? Was there really a time when she hadn't? Even at the beginning when he had resisted her medical help, and through the conflicts that followed, surely it was love that had opened her to the hurt. But this was one hurt she had never quite anticipated. To finally grow so close, only to have Spock torn away from her. Hiding her face in the pillow, she wept quietly.

Someone came up and touched her on the back. She ignored it. Just now, she did not want to face anyone.

"Laurie," McCoy said softly. "Laurie…how are you doing?" When she failed to respond, he sat on the edge of her bed. "I hear you did some traveling last night."

She kept silent.

"After they brought you back in, I treated that head of yours."

Finally she turned over, keenly aware that her commanding officer and colleague would see she had been crying. Her headache was gone and her vision so improved that McCoy's appearance shocked her. He looked on the verge of exhaustion, and she recalled some of the stories about his years with Spock—the legendary arguments and the deep friendship that had developed in spite of it. She had seen them in action at the VantageWest Park in California, where all three of them went with Spock's daughter. By day's end, the two men were practically at each other's throats. Yet their differences were soon forgotten.

"The captain…" she said.

McCoy shook his head dazedly. "Dammit, I tried to stop him, but there wasn't any time. There wasn't any _choice._ He went into the reactor room; he hooked up the mains with his bare hands. The damn radiation—" His words caught and he nearly broke down.

Lauren touched the sorrowing doctor and as her tears slowly flowed he began to look at her strangely. "Yes," he said under his breath, "of course. I don't know why I never saw it before."

Whatever McCoy saw caused him to leave her bed and back away, staring in a way that raised chill bumps on Lauren's skin. "What is it?" she asked. "Doctor, what's wrong?"

"You damned fool," he muttered and abruptly walked off.

ooooo

Spock would be buried in Space, his remains burned up in the atmosphere of the newborn Genesis planet. His funeral service was piped over sickbay for those who were unable to attend. Lauren lay dry-eyed in her bed, listening to Admiral Kirk's brief eulogy and a bagpipe rendition of "Amazing Grace". A Christian hymn! What would Spock think of that? On Gamma Vertas he had voiced his atheistic beliefs, but Lauren held a very different view. Her unshakable faith in God's existence told her Spock had a soul that was very much alive, perhaps even observing his funeral with wry humor.

After the service Chapel and McCoy drifted back into sickbay, but neither of them came to Lauren's bed, much to her relief. She had no patience for Chapel and she was still feeling the sting of Doctor McCoy's strange words. _You damned fool…_

Twice a nurse awakened her for a kailoscopic treatment. By evening Lauren was feeling so much better that she ate some dinner and asked to see Doctor Chapel. It was several minutes before Chapel appeared, looking pale and as cold as ever.

"I'm ready for discharge," Lauren announced.

Chapel's mouth tightened. She consulted a data padd she carried with her. "I was about to make an evaluation of your case," she said in a stilted voice. "It looks like you should do alright in your cabin, as long as you don't try any gymnastics. We need the bed."

Lauren came ridiculously close to thanking her. "And what about work?" She needed to be doing something, anything to distract herself from the black weight of memories pressing down on her.

Chapel regarded her through narrowed eyes. "You never give up, do you, Fielding? Who are you trying to impress now?"

Lauren was too shocked to speak.

"Just take it easy," Chapel said. "I'll let you know when—and if—you can come back."

ooooo

That night Lauren slept little. With Spock gone, would Chapel try to get her transferred off the ship? At this point, maybe that was not such a bad idea.

She drifted off and found herself in an unpleasant dreamscape of fierce storms, tangled forestlands, and wasted dying bodies. The scene shifted. She stood in the captain's quarters. Spock was seated in his alcove wearing a black robe, his eyes closed in meditation. The unexpected sight sent a thrill of joy coursing through her and she called out his name. At the sound of her voice, Spock's eyes opened. Regarding her fondly, he rose and accepted her embrace as she rushed forward. His body was firm and real and comforting.

Breathlessly she said, "It's really you! Where have you been?"

"Here," he answered.

She woke with a sob in her throat. Along in the dark, she clutched her pillow and waited out the last gray hours before morning.

ooooo

It was hard having no one to confide in. If Janice Rand were aboard ship, Lauren might have poured out her secret pain, but the transporter chief was on assignment in San Francisco. Just when Lauren most needed her friend, Jan was gone.

A medic came to her cabin, clucked over her poor color, and asked if she had seen the Genesis planet—as if it were some kind of tourist attraction instead of Spock's resting place. Over the intercom came a somber announcement about a wake for the captain. _And whose bright idea was that?_ she wondered. Spock had never approved of drinking parties, though he had occasionally permitted them—with careful restrictions—for the sake of tradition and morale. Having grown up with an alcoholic parent, Lauren's dislike of drunkenness was as deep-rooted as that of any Vulcan. The idea of anyone getting tipsy in Spock's honor sickened her.

The hours crawled by. She picked at food from her cabin snack dispenser. Slumping in front of her computer, she stared at the blank screen, unwilling to call up her research project and see Spock's notations. Dark memories of Gamma Vertas IV washed over her. Like everyone else, she had thought Spock would die from the insidious Vulcan disease. But fate had handed her a cure, and against all odds Spock had fought his way free of plakir-fee and drug addiction and much bitterness to return to his post as captain of the Enterprise. Of course. He'd had an appointment to keep—a solitary, painful rendezvous in the ship's reactor room.

Lauren ached with grief. Fresh hot tears blurred her vision and ran unchecked down her cheeks. _Khan. He was the one—murdering bastard, setting off the Genesis wave_ _and-_

The sound of a doorchime broke in. Drying her eyes, Lauren got up, feeling ready for some human company, even if it was just another visit from the medic.

As the door opened, a strong smell of liquor wafted into the room. Swaying slightly, Doctor McCoy caught hold of the doorframe and gaped at her. His uniform jacket was unfastened and spotted.

"There you are," he slurred.

Lauren shrank back in disgust. "Doctor…you're _drunk."_

McCoy drew himself up. "I am not."

Lauren struggled to maintain her composure. After all, this was her superior, the chief medical officer aboard ship. But did that give him any right to call her a fool or come around sloshed to the gills?

"This…this is all wrong," he said, fumbling to express himself. Then abruptly his voice dropped, each word becoming eerily distinct. "Do not grieve for me."

The breath caught in Lauren's throat. Even drunk as McCoy was, she found it hard to believe he would stoop to mimic Captain Spock. "Go away!" she exploded.

McCoy's mouth fell open. "W..what?" She gave him a none-too-gentle shove. "Hey!" he protested as the door snapped shut in his indignant face, and locked tight.

There was a single violent knock—an angry fist, or perhaps a boot—then silence. Shaken, Lauren stared at the door, her head throbbing again.

ooooo

The next morning Lauren gathered her courage and headed for the medical department wondering if McCoy would be on duty and how he would behave toward her. The main wards were empty of patients, the cots cleared away, the diagnostic beds stripped down and being sanitized. Bewildered, she approached a nurse. "Cooper, where is everyone?"

The young woman straightened. "Well, Doctor, most of the patients just transferred to a medical rescue ship. Doctor Chapel is down at the spacelab with one of their scientists. And Doctor McCoy—" she glanced at the door of a private cubicle, "he's sleeping in there."

 _Sleeping it off is more like it,_ thought Lauren. _So drunk, he forgot all about taking Counternol._ Bracing herself, she cracked the door open and peered into the dim little room. McCoy lay atop the bed minus his boots, snoring softly. He looked and smelled even worse than the night before. Seeing him on a bender was like watching her own father disintegrate all over again.

McCoy stirred. Rising up on an elbow, he blinked at her, blurry-eyed. "Laurie? Is that you?"

"Yes, Doctor."

He mumbled a few words about Genesis, then flopped back and moved restlessly.

"Let him be," warned a chill voice behind her.

Lauren swung around and faced Christine Chapel. It was an effort to keep her mouth shut.

Chapel seemed disarmed by her lack of response. "Well," she huffed, "as long as you're here, let me take a look at you."

Lauren followed her into a cubicle and submitted to an examination. Chapel waved a medscanner over the diminishing lump under Lauren's hair. "Looks like you'll make it," she said and put down the instrument with more force than necessary. "You'll be all ready for the big celebration when we get back to Earth."

Lauren stared at her, uncomprehending. "What celebration?"

"Hail the conquering heroes," Chapel said bitterly.

Lauren's throat tightened. "There's nothing to celebrate!"

Chapel turned toward a cabinet and opened a drawer. One pale hand trembled against the dark of her uniform. After a moment of doing nothing she said, "You can leave now."

Lauren's heart pounded, but she didn't leave yet. For once she had to speak her mind. "Spock gave you all that he could—you know that. For God's sake, stop blaming him and stop blaming me. No one can force a Vulcan to love. No one can force _anyone."_ And she walked out before the doctor could say anything.

ooooo

Chapel had been wrong. There was no celebration when the battered Enterprise limped into Spacedock. Lauren stood in the docking chamber with the other remnants of the crew. She heard Admiral Morrow announce the ship's dismantling. She saw how Kirk blanched at the unexpected news and was surprised at the depths of her own feelings. Granted, the Enterprise was old. These past years she had seldom functioned as anything more than a training vessel, but Spock had considered that function an important one. He had proudly commanded the Enterprise. It was here that Lauren had first met the Vulcan and loved him, and here that he had given up his life. After Spock's sacrifice, tearing the ship apart seemed like a desecration.

But not even Kirk's arguments swayed Morrow. Stunned and disheartened, the ship's company broke up, most heading straight for their debriefing sessions in San Francisco. Lauren hung back, unwilling to go just yet. Kirk also stayed behind. When the chamber cleared, he wandered over to her, looking grim and preoccupied. It occurred to Lauren that she had not seen him since before Spock died. _How much,_ she wondered, _had Khan's personal vendetta toward this man contributed to Spock's death? And how must Kirk feel about that?_

"Admiral," she said, "my condolences."

He managed a wan smile. "For the ship?"

"That, too—but mainly for the loss of its captain." She drew an unsteady breath. "I know you thought highly of Spock."

"Everyone did." His sad, curious eyes seemed to delve inside her. "By any chance, did you leave a flute in his cabin?"

The question caught Lauren completely by surprise. She blushed. "No. He had his own. He'd heard my music on Gamma Vertas…and later, he showed an interest in learning."

Nodding, Kirk said quietly, "Spock always had an interest in learning." Then he seemed to move the conversation away from her relationship with Spock. "What about McCoy? Have you had a chance to examine him since his collapse? He has me worried, the way he broke into Spock's cabin. Got his hands on that flute—I'd thought you were the only one aboard who played one. It's in your personnel file."

Lauren frowned. "McCoy collapsed? When?"

"While we were docking. Weren't you on duty when he was brought in?"

"Admiral," she explained, "I haven't been on duty since I was injured."

"That's right! I remember seeing your name on a casualty list." He paused and rubbed his forehead tiredly. "Sorry, how are you?"

"Almost as good as new." It occurred to Lauren that she was going to miss the admiral. With the Enterprise gone, with Spock gone, their paths might never cross again. "If you like," she suggested, "we can go check on McCoy together." Kirk nodded. They started for the turbolift. "Has he…" She broke off, but there was no delicate way to put it. "Has he been drinking again?"

"No. I don't think so." Kirk slowly shook his head. "If only it were that simple."

In sickbay they found McCoy sedated and resting comfortably. Lauren read his chart aloud. It seemed that the doctor's erratic behavior included speaking in a passable imitation of Spock's voice—again. All his symptoms were indicative of intoxication, yet there had not been a trace of alcohol or any other drug in McCoy's system when he was brought into sickbay. What did that leave? A mental breakdown? Why now? Because of Spock's death? _Sometimes the Vulcan felt as near to her as the next breath…as if she had only to_ _reach out and touch him…_

Kirk spoke. "So…what's your opinion?"

Lauren touched the doctor's bristly, unshaven face. "Maybe he's just worn out. They're going to transfer him to the medical center."

Unknown to them, Chapel had been watching from the doorway. Coldly she said, "Doctor Fielding, I haven't released you for active duty."

Lauren turned to her thinking, _and if had your way, you never would!_ But she only said, "Yes, Doctor. I was just—"

Kirk's voice cut in. "She was examining the doctor at my request." Chapel's face turned red. Kirk started to walk away, then added wearily, "Dammit, Chris, the war is over."


	2. Chapter 2

After her debriefing, Lauren checked out a skimmer from the base and headed straight for her beach house near Carmel. The weather was beautiful, with puffy clouds drifting in the sky. She had always been a cautious pilot, but not today. She flew fast and low, recklessly hugging the green contours of the coastal valleys. Reaching the shoreline, she glided above the cool salt spray, startling beachcombers. The dangerous game lifted her spirits. It actually felt good leaving the Enterprise behind. Maybe all it took was a fresh way of looking at life. So you come to an apparent dead end. Just slip around a corner and try a new road. Do things differently. Go to a bar, maybe. Everyone else did. Have a drink, maybe two, and loosen up. Stop taking everything so seriously. Jan would know some good places. They could go out together.

As Lauren skimmed around a headland, the old Stemple beach house came into view. Spock also had family by that name. Last summer he had told her so on a beach north of here. But what did it matter now?

She glided toward the house and brought the skimmer down for a perfect landing near the graveled driveway. An onshore breeze caressed her she climbed out and looked the place over. She noticed at once that something was wrong. The shutters had been sealed tight when she went away, but now they were wide open, inviting anyone to break a window and climb in. And the shrubs seemed a little too neat, as if someone had been trimming them. There weren't many weeds around the stone foundation, either.

The wind shifted, bringing with it the scent of food cooking. _Oh great,_ she thought, _squatters!_ Ready for a fight, she was heading toward the walkway when a car drove up. A casually dressed man stepped out and faced her with a pleased but quizzical expression.

"Laurie!" exclaimed her brother. "I thought you were…" His voice trailed off in an uncharacteristic loss for words.

Lauren resisted an urge to run weeping into Larry's arms. The last thing she needed now was a tearful reunion. Keeping it light, she teased, "That's what you get for thinking. I might ask what _you're_ doing here at the old homestead. In case you haven't noticed, this isn't Gamma Vertas. Don't tell me you're actually taking a vacation."

"It's mandatory." His gray eyes twinkled as he came over and delivered a hug. "Come inside. I want you to meet my friends."

Their names were Mike and Lucien, a pair of Salesian priests Larry had known since their seminary days. Judging by the clutter in the house, they had been having a most relaxing time, but they were sharp-witted pleasant company and Lucien could cook. Dinner was simple but delicious.

Afterward, Lauren suggested that she head over to the base and leave the three priests their privacy, but they insisted that she stay. "Alright," she said, "but don't think I'm going to clean up after you."

"Fair enough," Larry agreed.

The first night planetside was always strange after being hemmed in by a subtly vibrating starship. Bitterly lonely, Lauren lay awake far into the night, absorbing the solidness beneath her, listening to the breakers, watching the moonlight trace a silvery path across her bedspread. Wind sighed around the old house and she seemed to hear voices.

 _Soon,_ Spock had said. Anger stirred at the memory. How could he have thrown his life away? How could he touch her with such tender promise and then sacrifice those same hands to a reactor? It was no use arguing the logic of his choice when her heart felt only betrayal.

She slept late, but woke feeling just as tired as ever. After showering she pulled on some old comfortable clothes and went downstairs. Through the screen door she heard Larry and his friends out on the porch. Their voices went silent as she clattered around the kitchen. A moment later Larry came in, looking very concerned.

"My God, Laurie," he said in a hushed tone. "I just heard about it."

Cold gripped Lauren's heart and her stomach went leaden. Drawing in a deep breath, she cracked two eggs into a bowl. "It was on the news?"

"They said the Enterprise saw some pretty heavy action. There were a lot of casualties. And the captain died saving the ship."

She stood staring at the counter. "There were plenty of fatalities, Larry. Most of them just kids—a bunch of cadets from the Academy."

But Larry didn't want to talk about the cadets. "I remember how it was at St. Vincent's. You sweat blood over that man. And if I'm not mistaken, you even shared a kiss…"

Lauren shrugged as if she didn't care. And why should she when Spock threw away their future? "That kiss…it wasn't _my_ idea. He used his mind on me."

" _What?"_ Larry's eyes flashed. "Are you telling me he tried to—Laurie—how far—"

Her heart pounding, she beat up the eggs and dumped them into a buttered pan. They began to sizzle. "I blamed that one on the drugs. And later, that same voyage, he got away with _another_ kiss. When I fought him off, he laid into me. You should've seen the bruises. Of course," she added with sarcasm, " _that_ was the fault of a symbiant intruder. Oh, he always had an excuse."

Larry shook his head disbelievingly, the muscles working along his jaw. "He _hit_ you? And there're calling him a hero? If I'd known any of this, I would've laid into _him!"_

After Larry left, Lauren forced down the eggs and some orange juice. _Why had she told her brother those terrible things? Why would she sully Spock's memory? What was wrong with her?_ She went for a long, solitary walk along the sunlit beach. The tide had receded, leaving small shells and ropes of kelp stranded on the moist sand. Gulls strutted amid the debris, their sharp eyes searching out likely bits of food. At her approach they took wing and balanced on the wind. The plaintive sound of their cries made her heart ache.

Stopping, she gazed out at the restless surface of the ocean. Storm clouds loomed on the horizon. Foamy waves lapped at her feet, wetting her shoes as the breeze grew cooler and began to slice through her clothes. She imagined Spock at her side. She imagined his arms around her. As she stood shivering and lonely, her mind tried to deny that he was gone. For several minutes she struggled with her sanity. Then turning away from the hypnotic, beckoning waves, she started home.

The first thing she did was call Jan.

"You're asking me if I know any good bars?" Janice Rand gaped at her from the phone screen. "What, is this some kind of trick question? You never drink."

"You've never _seen_ me drink," Lauren hedged. She kept her voice low. The priests were in the house. "Look, Jan, I want to go out tonight. Are you with me or not?"

Jan hesitated. "Laurie…I watched the Enterprise dock, I saw the damage. It must have been pretty rough out there, especially for a doctor. Sometimes, when—"

Lauren interrupted. "Are you with me?"

After a moment Jan nodded. "Come by around eight."

ooooo

The bar Janice chose was near base, a club-like gathering place for the more sedate class of Starfleet officers—a bunch of off duty paper-pushers and nail-filers talking shop. Lauren stuck her head in the door and balked. "No way, Jan. It has to be livelier. Raucous. Maybe even dangerous."

"Okay," Jan sighed. "You asked for it."

Fog was rolling in from the bay. It began drizzling as Jan guided Lauren along the crowded backstreets. Rough-looking males broke off their conversations to gape at the women as they strode through the neon-splashed district. Some of the human men whistled.

They ducked into a dimly lit tavern. The place was alive with music and gaming and the babble of exotic languages. Sweet smelling smoke drifted lazily.

"I ought to have my head examined," Jan said under her breath.

Lauren's hands were sweaty. Slipping out of her coat, she went up to the bar. Jan took the stool beside her. She waited for Jan to order, then asked for the same. The bartender set down two strawberry daiquiris. With a mixture of excitement and shame, Lauren sampled the sweet concoction before taking a deep swallow. It had a pleasant warming effect. Perhaps getting drunk would not be as hard as she had imagined.

They moved to a table with a good view of the action. Lauren was starting a second drink and feeling quite mellow when Jan spoiled it by saying, "Kirk's really broken up."

Pretending she hadn't heard, Lauren glanced around the room. A tall, dark-haired man met her eyes and smiled seductively. It made her feel strange inside.

"He watched Spock die," Jan was saying, "and couldn't do a thing for him. Couldn't even touch him because of the radiation."

Startled, Lauren turned to her friend. An acid surge of pain washed over her. "Oh Jan, I didn't know that. How awful."

Jan sighed. "Yeah. And as if that wasn't bed enough, they're scrapping his Enterprise."

 _You mean_ _Spock's_ _Enterprise._ Shoving the thought aside, Lauren gazed back across the room. His chair was empty. Where did the guy go? She kept looking.

"At least McCoy's doing better," Jan said. "Did you know they released him?"

"No."

"He's at home, resting. They say it's just exhaustion."

"That's what I'd hoped." Lauren turned around and there he was, staring at her from behind Jan's chair, his pose an open, arrogant invitation. Her heart slammed as she took in his dark eyes and lean frame.

Jan swiveled and glowered at the stranger looming over her. "Do you mind not breathing down my neck, mister?"

The man didn't move. His eyes stayed on Lauren. "I've never seen you here before. I'd have remembered."

"How original," muttered Jan.

Lauren took a swallow of her drink. Emboldened, she said, "I gather you're a regular."

He shrugged. "I go wherever I want."

"Oh?" She felt steamy, lightheaded.

"Come with me," he suggested, "and I'll show you some real fun."

"Get lost!" Jan said, indignant.

"No." The word rasped from Lauren's throat as she stood up. The sudden change of position made the room wobble.

Jan grabbed her arm and hissed, "Laurie! What the heck are you doing? Don't you know this guy is only—"

"I like him." Lauren pulled free, took a defiant step, and almost lost her balance. The man caught her around the waist. His hand was warm and strong and masculine. Holding her close beside him, he guided her out a back door, into the damp shadows of an alley.

Feeling the drizzle, she said, "Wait…my coat…"

He tipped back her head and delivered a hard kiss, roughly pressing her against the icy bricks. Something inside her awakened fully to the danger. Suddenly she was aboard the Enterprise and it was the Spock-symbiant attacking her. Only this time she didn't fight it. She found herself responding, pulling him closer, demanding more. Somewhere in the background she heard a door open. There was a brief blast of music, then silence. The man laughed deep in his throat and shoved her down on the wet pavement. And it came to her then that this was _not_ Spock and never would be.

"Stop it!" she said, struggling, but he kept on. She brought up her knee. He slapped her face.

From out of the fog came the wonderful sound of Jan's voice. "You _bastard!_ Get the hell out of here before I call the police!"

The man hesitated. Then he rose and fled into the night.

Jan rushed over with Lauren's coat. Shivering uncontrollably, Lauren got up and Jan helped get her arms into the sleeves. She felt sick and dirty and lost. Tears filled her eyes and she began to sob.

"Hey," Jan soothed, "you're okay now. He's gone. What in the world got into you?"

Lauren was crying too hard to answer, even if she had known what to say.

"C'mon," Jan said gently. "We're getting soaked. Let's get out of here."

They went back down the streets of harbor district to her ground car. Lauren dropped weakly into the passenger seat and closed her eyes. The tears had stopped, for now. There was no relief for the hollow ache inside her.

Jan started the car and drove slowly toward the base. "Laurie…" she began in a tentative voice.

Lauren sighed. "I'm alright."

"No, you're not. I haven't known you all that long, but I know you well enough to see you're in trouble." Jan paused. "It's a man, isn't it? You lost someone on that ship."

Jan's perception shouldn't have surprised Lauren. After all, Janice was older, with experience far beyond Lauren's narrow world of research laboratories.

"You'll feel better if you talk about it," Jan urged.

Lauren longed to share her pain. Jan was a good friend, she knew she could trust her, but still she hesitated.

"Was he…off limits? Enlisted? Don't worry, I wouldn't tell."

Lauren drew in a shaky breath. "He…was the captain."

Jan swiveled her head and stared. " _Spock?"_ She looked back at the road and swerved to avoid another ground car. "You can't be serious. Why, you two didn't even get along."

"We didn't," Lauren said, "at first."

"Are you honestly telling me that you and Captain Spock—" Jan still sounded flustered. "That he—"

Lauren sighed. "This is exactly why I haven't told anyone. It's ironic. He was always concerned about exposing me to gossip. Now if this gets out, _he's_ the one people will be talking about."

After a moment Jan said, "Laurie…I thought Vulcans only took interest in women once every seven years. But don't misunderstand. I wouldn't think less of Spock if he…well, if he broke with tradition."

"I don't know about their traditions," Lauren admitted. "I only know about _him._ But look at it this way. Do you really think his mother would've married a Vulcan if they only came together every seven years?"

"Gosh," Jan said, "I never thought of that…" They moved through the foggy streets in silence. "No wonder you're a wreck. I didn't have any idea, Laurie. We were all so fond of him. I'm sorry."

"So am I."

ooooo

Lauren spent the night at the starbase with Jan and gave herself over to regrets. Rising early, she borrowed some clothes from her sleeping friend and headed back to the beach house. Wind-driven rain buffeted her skimmer as she flew along, nursing a dull headache, still berating herself. What a fool she had been last night. She shuddered to think what might have happened if Jan hadn't followed her out of that dive. Liquor wasn't the answer—it never was, and there was no use pretending some stranger was Spock. Oh, why had she let herself get so involved with him? She had given her heart and now she was paying a bitter price.

At the beach house she asked Larry into her room and said, "I have a confession to make." He looked startled. "No, I don't mean the sacramental kind. It's about Spock and those things I told you. They're not really true."

Larry looked skeptical. "You're saying he _didn't_ use his mind…or force himself on you…or leave those bruises you were talking about?"

How could she explain? Yes, he had done all of those things. "But none of it was his fault."

" _That's_ mighty hard to believe. Laurie, I think you're just covering for him. You're afraid I'll go to the press."

Lauren's heart froze. "You wouldn't!"

"No—for _your_ sake, I wouldn't. I couldn't care less about _his_ sainted reputation."

"Promise me," she said.

Nodding, he gave her a hug and said, "It's not just about the press, is it? You still have feelings for that man."

This time she did not deny it.

"But Laurie, he's not worth grieving over. He never was."

She was glad when he left the room. With the door closed, Lauren went to the old cherry wood dresser and opened the bottom drawer. Gently she drew out a Gamman shirt woven in a bold chevron pattern, all rich blues and cream. Holding it to her face, she could almost imagine Spock's scent. He had worn it often on Gamma Vertas and when they left, she rescued it from their discards. The shirt had long been a secret source of pleasure.

And now she realized this was all she had left of him.

Hesitantly she put it over her clothes. The long sleeves dangled well past her wrists, giving her a warm, protected feeling. Rolling them up a bit, she found her flute case, opened it, and took the gleaming instrument into her hands. _I'm sorry,_ her heart cried, _I should never have said those things to my brother. He doesn't understand…and now he blames you._

Sitting down on her bed, she raised the flute to her lips and played a sad, haunting melody while raindrops struck the windows.

ooooo

That afternoon the clouds broke up. Sunshine drew wisps of steam from the drenched tidelands, and the gulls resumed their foraging. There followed several days of clear weather, a period of reassessment and healing disturbed only by the startling bits of news Jan brought her. Spock's burial tube found intact on Genesis, McCoy's arrest and subsequent jailbreak, the theft of the Enterprise by Admiral Kirk. It all seemed more than implausible. It seemed insane. The more Lauren heard, the more it made her determined to pick up the pieces of her own life and go on.

At night she slept with the warm security of Spock's shirt against her skin, but during the day she made an effort to get out more, do some sightseeing, try new restaurants with Jan or kindly Doctor M'Benga, who she had known from her days at Starfleet Medical Center. Together with Larry, she visited their mother in New York and upon returning found the courage to access her plakir-fee project for the first time since docking. The shipboard computer automatically updated her home unit every time the Enterprise reached Earth. All her latest work was there, including Spock's final contributions.

Looking at his entries hurt badly. She had expected that. What surprised her was the way she handled the pain, turning it against the disease that had once ravaged Spock and still had the potential to decimate Vulcan. Perhaps this could be the focus of her life now—to find a weapon for Spock's people in the war against plakir-fee.

Lauren lost herself in her work, moving endlessly between her biocomp and the makeshift lab she kept in one corner of the big old kitchen. Sometime during that period Larry and his friends quietly cleaned up the house and packed. Lauren sent her brother off with warm wishes, and then she had the place all to herself. She was working with a beaker of compounds when Jan walked into the kitchen. It was, Lauren thought, a weekday. Shouldn't a Transporter Chief be on duty somewhere? She gave her friend an absent-minded greeting.

Jan studied the lab sprawl and shook her head. "I can see why you didn't hear me knocking."

Lauren spared her a brief glance. "Sorry. I'm kind of busy."

"Evidently. When's the last time you stepped foot out of this house?"

Lauren sensed a lecture coming and she had no patience for it. The timing on this experiment was crucial. "Look Jan, I really am sorry, but—"

Jan interrupted. "We have to talk."

Lauren bent over the beaker solicitously. "Just give me a few minutes, okay? Get yourself some coffee."

"No, Laurie." Jan's voice was firm. "This is important."

"And this isn't?" But Lauren turned around anyway and was chilled by the look in Jan's eyes. _Now what…? Could anything more possibly go wrong?_

"Come out on the porch," Jan said.

With a growing sense of foreboding, Lauren reluctantly left her project and sat beside Jan on the porch steps. Jan was right about one thing. It _had_ been too long since she was outside, but the crystalline beauty of the day made little impression on her. She had no interest in the churning surf or Jan's latest bulletin from the Starfleet Funny Farm. She, for one, was determined to keep sane, which meant keeping very, very busy. "Well?" she prompted, eager to get back to her work. "I only have ten minutes."

Jan searched her face. Reaching out, she gently touched Lauren's hand. "I came over as soon as I confirmed it." Her voice barely held steady. "Laurie, listen to me. Spock is alive."

A surge of strange feelings froze Lauren. Her heart pounded. "What are you talking about? Have _you_ lost your mind, too?"

Jan's green eyes sparkled. "It's true, Laurie. Just before his death Spock put some part of his consciousness in Doctor McCoy—that's why McCoy was acting so peculiar. And when Spock's burial tube landed intact on Genesis, the planet somehow rejuvenated his body."

"But that's impossible!"

"It's the reason why Kirk broke McCoy out of jail and took the Enterprise. They went to get Spock's body and take him to Vulcan. There was some kind of ceremony that restored him."

Lauren rose up, indignant. "Jan, for Pete's sake, stop it! You're talking about some fairy tale—but this is real life. Spock's _gone."_

Calmly Jan stood and faced her. "I know this sounds incredible, but I'm not making it up. The news is all over Starfleet. Spock is back." Without another word she went to her car and drove off.

Shaken, Lauren stood staring out at the ocean. A lazy wave slowly rolled to shore, luminous green-blue in the sunlight. Its graceful curl ended in an explosion of foam, leaving a tenuous mist hanging in the air. For an instant it felt to Lauren as if time had slipped and Spock was just out of sight, about to rejoin her. Then she came to her senses. _He's gone,_ she repeated to herself, _he's gone…_

Yet Jan's strange assertion had planted a tiny seed of hope that clung stubbornly. That night Lauren sat by her phone, thinking. There would be no rest for her until she had driven Jan's ridiculous notions out of her head. Once more she told herself, _people don't come back from the dead._ But her heart refused to listen.

At last, struggling to compose herself, she sent out a call to the one person who would bluntly tell her the truth, no matter how painful.

A ripple of surprise stirred Christine Chapel's features as her image appeared on the phone screen. "Fielding," she said. "Well then, I suppose you've heard."

Lauren's pulse went wild. "About Spock—"

"Yes." Chapel's lips curved into a grim smile. "Hard to believe, isn't it? But don't go getting your uniform all in a twist. I'm afraid the early reports were a bit optimistic. Word is that he's…well, not exactly his old self."

Lauren struggled to grasp Chapel's words. They were coming too fast, hitting too hard. "You're telling me he…he's really _alive_?"

Chapel just gazed at her. Then she said, "If by that you mean is he up and walking, the answer is yes. But…the Vulcans seem to have had a little trouble reconnecting his mind."

There were, Lauren, knew, worse things than being dead—especially for an intellectual Vulcan. Fearing the answer, she said, "What have they done to him?"

Obviously dealing with her own share of pain, Chapel lowered her eyes. "Maybe with time…with therapy…with re-education. Maybe."

"Oh my God." Lauren broke the connection and sobbed into her arms. _Oh, why didn't they leave him alone? The Vulcans had to play God, they had to mess around with him! Why? Out of what sick brand of logic?_

It was a long while before the tears slowed, but the pain lingered on, bitterly twisting and turning in her soul. _So these were the noble Vulcan people she had been working to help—these same people who had used Spock in some ghoulish failure of an experiment. Well, to hell with them! Let the cold-hearted bastards find their own cure!_

Wiping her eyes on her sleeve, Lauren strode away from the phone and systematically destroyed her research.


End file.
